Devil's Prize by Jane Jackson

But she wasn’t a child and it was time he realised that. She stood absolutely still, partly from an instinctive sense that the next move must be his, and partly from fear that he might turn away again.
     When he opened the door to her his features had been slack with exhaustion. Now they were taut, ruthless, his brows drawn together. His gaze roamed her face with intense concentration, lingering on her mouth. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers.
    He held out his hand, hating that he wanted her to stay, that he wanted her. Time seemed to stop. Would she shake her head and mumble some excuse? Best if she did. Best if she left now, before – then she reached out. Her fingers were cold and trembled as they curled around his.
    Uncertainty flashed across his face, briefly softening the harsh planes. She felt a rush of triumph instantly swamped by a wave of tenderness so powerful her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t mocking her now. Had he finally realised how much he meant to her?
    He glanced at their joined hands. He had meant it when he told her to go, had given her every chance to leave. She was taking it right to the edge. So be it.
    ‘All right then.’ He drew her towards him. ‘Stay.’
    She could smell the musky scent of his skin, feel the heat radiating from his body. She knew she had taken a risk coming here. But her courage had paid off. Never before had he looked at her the way he did now. A maelstrom of emotions swirled inside her: curiosity, anticipation, and a quivery sensation that wasn’t exactly fear. Yes, she was nervous. But she had no reason to be afraid. This was Devlin and she loved him.
    He was the most self-sufficient man she knew. But even he needed to escape sometimes from demands and the dangers of his world. She would give him that. She would give him all she had, all she was, all she could be.
    Drawing her closer he ran his fingertips lightly down her cheek. Unwilling to shatter the moment with words that could not begin to express the tumult inside her she turned her head and pressed her lips to his callused palm.
    His in-drawn breath hissed softly. Cupping her face between his hands, still fighting but knowing the battle was already lost, he lowered his head.
    As his mouth brushed hers her eyelids fluttered closed. Her head swam. Afraid she would fall she gripped his shirt. She had not known what to expect from a man renowned for both bravery and brutality. His lips were warm, their caress as light as a falling petal. But she sensed an explosive tension in him. His mouth moved over her face, along her jaw and down the side of her throat, sensitising every nerve. Her pulse galloped and thundered as once again his lips covered hers and his tongue parted them.
    His stomach tightened. The warning that clamoured in his brain was lost beneath driving need. Never in his life had he craved anything as much as he craved her. The strength of his desire, the deep ache for far more than physical release, terrified him. He clung to control by his fingernails. Control was everything. He’d learned young and learned well. Control meant being the man giving orders not taking them. It meant protecting himself by not allowing anyone to get too close. It meant holding something in reserve and never revealing his deepest feelings. Those were the basic rules of survival. Ignoring them might reveal a weakness, an advantage others could and surely would exploit. Ignoring them was foolish and dangerous.
    Needing to touch, Tamara slid her hands up beneath the loose shirt. His skin was damp, burning, slick and smooth, and the hard muscles bunched and quivered beneath her fingers. Caught like a leaf in the storm he had unleashed within her she clung to him as her legs trembled and her bones melted.
    Control snapped and he plunged. His fingers curled in her hair, pulling her head back as he crushed her against him. His lips locked on hers, not gentle now but hard and hot and demanding.
    His hungry mouth stifled